


The Smallest Things

by Somniare



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, pre-series 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1447240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/pseuds/Somniare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis had known Hathaway was very sick when he didn't argue as Lewis had driven him to the doctor’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to paperscribe. I've tinkered with it a little since it came back. All errors, glitches, goofs, and typos are mine, all mine.

  
Lewis had known Hathaway was very sick when he didn’t argue as Lewis had driven him to the doctor’s.  The diagnosis was flu.  He wasn’t sick enough to be admitted to hospital, but he was too sick to expect to remain upright and even moderately functional for several days at least.  Lewis had settled him in his own bed, and taken up residence on James’s couch.  His request the following morning for a couple of days’ leave to keep an eye on James – ‘just until the worst’s past, ma’am’ – had fallen on sympathetic ears but had not been granted; with a third of the station off sick with either the flu or the latest round of norovirus, all leave had been cancelled.  Lewis had resigned himself to doing the best he could for James.  
  
On the third day, Lewis was returning to the station after conducting a couple of follow-up interviews.  His route took him past the end of James’s road.  He’d told the desk sergeant he’d be back around one, and as it had barely gone twelve he made the split second decision to stop in and see how James was.  He was particularly concerned as James hadn’t been sleeping well, and the heavy bags under his eyes stood out sharply against his pale, drawn cheeks.  
  
He hoped James had finally managed to get some much needed rest.  The tablets he was taking to control his bodily aches and pains also knocked him out, but they didn’t stop him tossing and turning.  A call to Lyn had put Lewis’s mind at ease somewhat, but he wasn’t going to let any opportunity to reassure himself pass.  
  
Lewis let himself in and stared in confusion at a large mound lying in front of the open hall cupboard.  It certainly hadn’t been there when he’d left for work and he couldn’t make head or tail of it initially.  An unexpected noise drew his attention.  Lewis was stunned to realise the mound was mostly James, his body slumped over a stack of towels and a blanket draped over his shoulders.  Lewis could only assume James had been looking for something in the cupboard, pulling the contents of the shelves onto the floor until, betrayed by his body, he’d been compelled to give up and sink to the floor himself.  James snuffled and began coughing harshly, and Lewis was on the floor beside him in an instant.  
  
Slipping his arms under James’s, Lewis lifted him so James was upright and leaning against him.  The coughing shook James’s thin frame until, thoroughly spent, he collapsed back against Lewis’s chest, breathing heavily.  
  
“What are you doing out here, man?” Lewis scolded gently.  
  
“Was looking...” James mumbled.  “Needed...”  His eyelids fluttered.  
  
 _Christ.  Was he sleepwalking?_ Lewis pushed down his own anxiety.  “Whatever you're looking for can wait, lad.  You need to get back into bed.”  
  
James lifted his head and looked at Lewis, his eyes distant and unfocused.  "No, I need to...."  He tried to raise his chin higher, and winced in pain.  
  
“Oh, James,” Lewis murmured with concern, carefully lifting James to his feet.  Under the blanket, his pyjama jacket was soaked with sweat.  
  
The other bedding was a tangled pile at the side of the bed, but otherwise the bedroom was as Lewis had left it that morning.  Manhandling James into clean pyjamas took some considerable effort, as James had become little more than a dead weight.  By the time Lewis had him sorted out and lying back down on the bed, James had fallen into a restless sleep again.  
  
Lewis arranged the covers loosely over James and sat down to catch his breath.  He watched as deep creases marred James’s brow and his fingers groped ineffectually at the sheet.  Lyn had said the fever might be triggering nightmares.  Lewis wished he knew how to make them stop.  He checked his watch, swearing softly at the realisation he couldn't stay much longer.  
  
“Ah, bugger it,” he muttered.  “They’ll survive another half-hour.”  He might get a bollocking from Innocent, but right now James was far more important than tracking down whoever was hacking into Wolsey College’s website.  Lewis was only on the case because Gurdip needed a supervising officer to report to and Lewis had been available.  He’d only slow Gurdip down if he was there.  
  
Lewis turned his attention to the clutter in the hallway.  It wouldn't affect James if he needed to get to the loo, but if he were to try to head for the kitchen for any reason it would be a tripping hazard.  
  
As Lewis picked up the first of the towels, he saw an old biscuit tin resting on another towel below.  Lewis remembered Val’s mum bringing a similar tin over every Christmas from the time they were married until they’d moved to Oxford.  It appeared to have been tucked between the towels, and Lewis wondered if it was what James had been looking for, though he couldn't think why.  The lid started to slip off as he picked it up and he caught it before it fell.  A piece of yellowing paper had been stuck neatly in the centre of it with now brittle sticky-tape.  Whatever had been written on it had faded some time ago.  
  
Inside the tin was a small, hand-crocheted bear.  It was worn – well-loved, Val would have said – and one ear was felted.  When Mark was little, and had been sick or upset, he’d sucked on a corner of a comfort blanket his gran had made for him; this ear looked the same.  Under the bear was a single sheet of notepaper, yellowed with age like the label, though the writing on this page was still legible.  Lewis automatically read it before its importance registered.  
  
 _My dearest boy, my darling James,_  
 _As long as you have this bear,_  
 _know that I am with you also._  
 _Love forever,_  
 _Mummy  xx_  
  
Lewis’s hands shook as he tenderly replaced the note and bear in the tin and firmly sealed the lid.  He held it reverently in both hands as he thought what to do next, grateful James hadn't witnessed his discovery.  Not for the first time, Lewis wondered about James’s childhood.  He’d never mentioned his mother and, were it not for the murder of Stephen Black, Lewis doubted he would have ever spoken of his father.  Lewis thought of the small blonde boy who’d first held the bear, and wondered how old he’d been.  If bear and tin were of an age, he’d possibly had it since birth.  
  
Lewis made himself move, heading back to the bedroom.  James’s fingers still moved restlessly, now plucking away at the edge of the pillow case.  Lewis stepped up to the side of the bed.  He reopened the tin, digging his nails under the lip of the lid and lifting slowly to minimise any noise.  He tucked the bear under the pillow, close to James’s hand, and held his breath as James’s fingers brushed against the worn wool and froze.  Almost experimentally, James slowly took the bear in his hand and pulled it closer to his face.  His brow smoothed immediately, and the small, agitated jerks he’d been making ceased.  
  
Lewis put the tin back on the towels, leaving it with the lid half off, and left everything as it had been when he had come in.  He closed the bedroom door, leaving James to sleep on, and took care to remove any sign he’d been there at all before preparing to lock up.  
   
Lewis was torn at the thought of leaving James at a time when he was obviously seeking comfort, and his heart ached for his friend.  But his respect for James’s privacy overcame his instinctive need to provide comfort and reassurance, and besides, the wee bear was doing a better job of that than he suspected he could.  
  
Lewis would go back to work and not mention dropping in to anyone.  With a bit of luck, James would think Lewis had merely been a part of his fevered imagination.  Lewis knew now that James would sleep peacefully.  
  
As he closed the door to James’s flat, he recalled a line from one of Lyn’s favourite books, one he’d read to her over and over again: “Sometimes,” said Pooh, “the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

Lewis headed back to James’s that evening.  He stopped in at Sainsbury’s on the way to pick up all the ingredients for a hot toddy.  Lewis’s mam had made him and his brother hot toddies every time they’d had a bad cold – it had to be severe enough to keep them off school.  He found the whisky, lemon, and brown sugar easily enough – his mam had never used honey – but the cloves had been a bugger to find.  He would have gone without them, but his mam had always added cloves and Lewis considered them essential.  He suddenly wondered if James liked cloves.  Not everyone did.  Ah, well, he’d make it anyway and if James didn’t like it, Lewis could drink that one and he’d make a clove-free one for James.

Lewis stood at the door to James’s flat and listened for a moment.  He could hear music and voices.  No.  He could hear David Attenborough.  Lewis entered the flat.

“James?”

A mumble came from the living area.  “M’ere.”

The obstruction in the hallway was as he’d left it, with no sign it had been tripped over, so Lewis had to assume James had safely negotiated his way around it.  Or it could have been pure luck.

Lewis put the bag of shopping on the worktop and went through to the living area.  James was half-sitting, half-sprawled at one end of the couch, while baby meerkats romped on the telly.

“You’re up.”

“Obviously,” James mumbled.

“How’re you feeling, James?”

“I don’t feel very much like James… if that’s what you want to know,” James grumbled.

Lewis sat on the arm of the couch nearest James’s head.  “There there.  I’ll bring you tea and honey until you do.”

James blinked at him.  “Winnie the Pooh.  Piglet says that to Pooh.”

Lewis smiled.  “Read all those books to our Lyn and Mark over and over again.  Wise bear, Pooh.”

“Very.”  James sank against the cushions.  Even speaking seemed to exhaust him.

“How long have you been out here?”

“Two and a half episodes.”

Lewis looked at the telly and then the DVD case on the coffee table.  “Couple of hours at least, then.  Eaten anything?”  James shook his head.  Lewis bit back a sigh.  “Drink?”  James pointed to a quarter full water bottle on the floor by the couch within easy reach.

“Bit of a mess in the hallway; were you looking for something?  I know I wasn’t in there this morning.”

James studied him, looking like he could fall asleep any second if it weren’t for the sharp glint of _knowing_.  “You know I was.”

So James had been aware.  This was the point where Lewis was supposed to lie to help James save face.  Where he was supposed to say, “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” and move the conversation to safer, less embarrassing ground.  He could do it, and even if James had been aware of his presence, they could both pretend it had never happened and move on.  Except Lewis couldn’t lie to James.  James trusted him.

Lewis stood, moved to the seat next to James, and sat down.  “I suppose I do,” he finally said.  “You should know I didn’t go looking for… I found you in a state in the hallway.  After I got you back into bed and settled, I wanted to tidy up so you wouldn’t trip over the towels or walk into the open door if you got up – though you seemed to have managed all right.”  Lewis smiled at James, a shaky, slightly uncertain smile.  James regarded him steadily through half-closed eyes.  “The lid fell off the tin when I picked it up.  I didn’t know… I never meant to pry.”

James gave a slight nod which could have meant either, “yes, you did,” or, “I know.” 

From inside his pyjama jacket, James pulled out the small bear.  “You probably think I’m some sort of immature fool,” he mumbled quietly.

“What?”  Lewis felt the pain behind James’s comment, and it stabbed at his heart as well.  “Because you’ve held on to something that’s important to you?  No.  Not at all.”

“What about the fact it’s the one thing that can consistently bring me comfort when I need it?”  James looked directly at Lewis, a faint challenge in his heavy eyes.  “Does that make me… emotionally stunted in some way?”

“God, James, no.”  Lewis’s voice cracked.  James had to be feeling very low to be talking that way.  “And if anyone’s ever said that to you, they need a swift boot up the arse.  There’s nothing wrong with seeking comfort, and better you find it in something that makes you happy than… the bottom of a bottle or worse, or not having anything at all.”

“What do you do?” James whispered.  “When you’re alone and it all feels too much.”

_Oh, God_.  That was something Lewis had never told anyone.  It was deeply private.  But was it any more private than James’s bear?

“I talk to Val.  I pretend she’s sitting on the couch, or lying beside me in bed, and I just talk.”

James nodded slowly.  “That sounds nice,” he said softly.  “Do you…?”  James bit his bottom lip and turned away guiltily.

“Do I what, lad?”  James gave a small shake of his head.  “I’m asking you, James,” Lewis said gently.  “Do I what?”

“Do you hear her voice?"

_Oh._ “Sometimes,” he answered truthfully.

James tucked himself into a ball and hugged his legs.  The small bear nestled between his knees and his chest.  “I’ve tried to let go of Nicky – that’s his name, after St Nicholas, patron saint–”

“–and protector of children,” Robbie finished.

James smiled sadly.  “Yes.  I’ve tried to let go, but… more often than not, there’s never been anyone else around, and I have this ridiculous fear that if I do get rid of him there’ll be no-one and nothing around when I really need someone.”

Lewis thought of his own life.  He’d had his mam and dad, even if his father had been a bit distant at times, and he’d had grandparents, and his brother.  Later, he’d had Val, then the kids.  Even now he could turn to Lyn, and, if he was completely honest, he sought comfort from James’s presence, even if the lad didn’t see it.  Lewis realised James couldn’t – or more likely, wouldn’t – let himself draw comfort from Lewis, probably because he thought he would be overstepping somehow.  Likewise, Lewis couldn’t make James take comfort, but he could let him know it was okay to do so.

“I’m here,” Lewis said softly.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

James blinked at him wearily.  Perhaps, Lewis thought, this wasn’t the best time to have this conversation.  But if not now, when?

James tipped his head to one side and back again.  “Oh.  You mean…?”

“You can call me when you need… whatever.”  He gave James a moment before continuing.  “You’re me best mate, James, and if you can’t call on a mate…”

James stared at him, looking alternately puzzled and hopeful.

“C’m’ere, you daft sod.”  Lewis held his arms out wide to James, inviting him to come closer.  When James didn’t move, Lewis began to think he’d gone a step too far.  Then James leant towards him and practically fell against him.  Lewis pulled him close, and James sank against his chest with a sigh.  Lewis lay back against the couch, taking James with him.

When Lewis went to speak again, he discovered James was nearly asleep.  Good.  God knew the lad needed it.

James opened one eye, stared at him, and started to mumble.

“I’m sorry, lad,” Lewis murmured.  “All I caught of that was ‘dream’.”

James pressed a hand to Lewis’s chest.  “Is it okay if I dream about you?  Instead of Nicky.”

It was an odd request, but Lewis saw no harm in it.  “Aye, lad.  If it’ll help you, go right ahead.  Someone once said, ‘I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart for so long.  If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can be together all the time.’”

James smiled happily, closed his eyes, and, if his breathing was anything to go by, was soon asleep.

Robbie chuckled softly to himself.  For a bear of very little brain, Pooh was a wise old soul indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> The line Lewis remembers is from A.A. Milne's _Winnie the Pooh_.


End file.
